I lie awake for hours, listening to the sounds of the clubhouse above—muffled music, laughter, the rumble of motorcycles coming and going.
The construction dust tickles my nose.
The mattress tries to swallow me whole.
Around three in the morning, I give up and start doing push-ups on the concrete floor.
Better than lying there thinking about her.
Better than imagining what might have happened if I'd been brave enough to close that distance.
Better than admitting that I'm already in too deep to save myself.
I'm up before dawn, running the perimeter of the compound.
Six acres, give or take.
Fenced on all sides, cameras at regular intervals, motion sensors in the tree line.
The Raiders take security seriously—I'll give them that.
But there are gaps.
Blind spots.
Places where someone patient enough could slip through.
I make mental notes. I’ll talk to Runes later, see if he'll listen to a Brotherhood boy's suggestions.
Probably not, but I have to try.
The Florida morning is already warm, the air thick with humidity and the smell of swamp.
I miss Ireland.
I miss the cold, the wet, the gray skies that match my mood.
This place is too bright.
Too alive.
Too full of colors and sounds and sensations that don't match the darkness inside me.
I finish my run and head back toward the clubhouse, sweat soaking through my shirt.
That's when I see it.
A car. Dark sedan. Parked on the road just outside the main gate, engine idling.
Could be nothing. Could be someone lost, checking their phone, waiting for a friend.
Could be something else entirely.
I stop and watch.
The car sits there for another thirty seconds, then pulls away slowly.
Deliberately. Like whoever's driving wanted me to see them.
